One Tree
by CloudyQuack
Summary: Castiel, former angel of the Lord, has finally died. The brothers are trying their best to move on without him, until one day a letter is delivered to their door.
1. 1

The screen door swung open with a creak, allowing Sam's massive frame to shove itself into the house. The fading sunlight spilled in behind him, turning his mane of brown hair to gold as he braced the door with his foot and stepped over the threshold. Crossing the kitchen, he dumped a pair of bulging grocery bags onto the worn countertop and placed a six pack of beer next to them with a thunk. "Dean, I'm back!" he called into the interior of the house. There was no answer, but Sam hadn't really been expecting one.

Sighing, he began putting the groceries away, half-hoping the noise might draw Dean out of his bedroom. Two weeks had gone by since the burial, and Sam had hardly seen his brother for the majority of it. Dean ate nothing, barely drank, and seemed to spend the majority of his time in a fitful sleep. Sam too was hurting, though to be honest he hadn't hunted with Cas in a few years now. The call had shocked him. The angel was one of those things he had always assumed would be around forever, probably long after both he and Dean had finally died. Yet, some monster or another had gotten him in the end – Dean wouldn't give any details.

They had buried Castiel together, out behind the house on the slope leading to the lake. Dean had wrapped his body in a burlap bundle. "You're the one who's always going on about being 'environmentally friendly'," he'd said gruffly in response to Sam's look. It was one of the only things Dean had said since Sam arrived. After the last shovelful of dirt had been cast across the grave, Dean had gone immediately into the house and assumed his current regimen, leaving Sam to mark the grave. He'd gone down to the lake and dragged out a smooth, white stone, and set in into the dirt. As far as he knew, neither of them had so much as glanced at the grave since.

Sam closed the refrigerator, keeping one beer for himself. He didn't want to go into Dean's bedroom, but he had to try and coax his brother out again. Every time he went in there Dean looked worse and worse, and every time it ended with Dean shouting and throwing things as Sam backpedaled into the hall and left him alone. There was just no getting through to him; something in him was really and truly broken. Still, Sam wasn't about to let his brother rot away to nothing in there. Reluctantly he grabbed a second beer and made his way down the hall.

Pausing for a brief moment outside the door, Sam took a breath and stepped in. "Hey Dean," he said, directing his attention to the motionless bundle of fabric on the bed and ignoring the mess around him. "How are you doing?"

"Fucking spectacular," came the bitter reply.

"I...I brought you a beer."

The bundle of blankets shifted and the back of Dean's head slipped out. "Thanks, but no thanks," he grunted.

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "Come on, really?" he said, trying to sound lighthearted.

"Sam, I'm trying to sleep," Dean said.

"Right," said Sam, glancing around. "I'll just…leave it on the table here then, in case you want it."

"You do that."

Sam made to do so, but paused. "I hear there's a Cowboys game on today," he put forth hopefully. "I might turn it on, want to watch?"

Dean rolled over with a grunt and fixed Sam with a hollow glare. Sam desperately ignored the sunken cheeks and the lines on his face, trying to keep his expression neutral. "I'm tired Sam," Dean said. "Go away."

"Right then," said Sam, quiet. "Sorry." Dean rolled over again.

Giving the curled figure on the bed a last look, Sam set the beer on the table and left the room. Walking down the hallway, he cranked the cap off his own beer. He took a long gulp and sighed, leaning on the kitchen counter and wondering what more he could possibly do here. Perhaps this was it for Dean. They had lost people before, but Cas…Cas had been with them longer than anyone, and he had so clearly been Dean's best friend. Sam felt his heart sinking in his chest, and he took another swig of beer to drive away the sadness. He couldn't let himself fall apart, not with Dean the way he was.

Sam stood there for a long while, drinking and pondering the whole situation. Just as the last of the sun's rays were fading away, there was a sudden knock on the door.

He stood upright and set the bottle down, confused. Who could be calling out here? Suspicious, he moved over to the front door and placed a hand on the knob, pulling it open a crack. "Who's there?"

"I am looking for Dean. Dean Winchester."

Sam opened the door a little more to reveal a tall, slender man with bright red hair and sharp features. He was dressed in a suit, and appraised Sam with amber eyes. "Who's asking?" Sam demanded.

"My name is Pahaliah," the man said calmly. "I am an angel of the Lord."

Surprised, Sam pulled the door fully open and stepped into the space. "We haven't met before, have we?" he asked.

"No, we have not," Pahaliah said. "I was a friend of Castiel's, before he fell. I was so sorry to hear of his death. But, to be frank, he lasted much longer than I thought."

"Yes, well…that's nice," Sam said uncertainly, glancing behind him. "Why exactly are you here again?"

Pahaliah reached into the pocked of his suit and drew out a slightly yellowed envelope. "I have a message for Dean Winchester."

"Who from?"

Pahaliah raised an eyebrow. "I am sorry, but I am not permitted to give such information to anyone save for the addressee."

Sam gritted his teeth and held out a hand. "Fine then. Give it to me, I'll make sure he gets it."

"I really was supposed to give it to Dean directly," Pahaliah said, glancing behind Sam.

"He's sleeping right now," Sam said. "I'll give to him when he wakes up."

Pahaliah paused, but sensed Sam's irritation. "Very well then," he said, depositing the letter into Sam's outstretched hand. "Ensure that he gets it."

"I will," said Sam, taking hold of the letter. "Goodbye then."

"Yes, farewell," said Pahaliah, turning on his heel. Sam closed the door as the angel disappeared with a faint whooshing noise. Frowning, he brought the letter to his face, directing his gaze to the writing on the surface of the envelope.

_In the event of my death, deliver to DEAN WINCHESTER._

Frozen, Sam stood there for several long moments.

He didn't know what to do. Clearly this letter could only be from one person, but could Dean even handle reading it? He debated the idea of reading it himself, but he knew Dean would be pissed if he found out. There was nothing for it. Unable to think of another option, he slowly turned and walked away down the hall. "Dean! You've got a letter!" he called.


	2. 2

With trembling hands, Dean tore the yellowed envelope. He reached inside and drew out the letter, unfolded it, and began to read.

_Dear Dean,_

_If you are reading this, it means that I have finally passed from this universe. I am dead, definitively, completely, and with no possibility of returning. I know it seems hard to believe, that in our world anyone can truly pass beyond mortal reach. It seems there's always a way to find someone again, via Heaven or Hell or even ghosthood. But, with angels it's different. I know I have appeared to die before, and have returned to you from beyond the grave, but this time I don't think any such thing will happen. This time, I'm gone for good. And I'm sorry, but the very fact that you're reading this letter means that I can't be coming back._

_At the time I'm writing this, I don't know the circumstances surrounding my death. If we parted on friendly terms, then that is well and good. If we had some sort of falling out before I left, then this is my opportunity to apologize. I hope you can forgive me enough to continue reading. Despite anything I may have said or done, I always have and always will have nothing but good will towards you Dean. I simply could not harbor anything else._

_To tell you the absolute truth, I feel I must inform you that the moment I raised you from Hell was not the first moment we had met. I have known you for far longer than that. Here, in this letter, I wish to tell you the full story, as I doubt I will ever be able to get it out while I am still alive. There are some things that I don't have the courage to say aloud, no matter how badly I want you to know. So, let me write it here, and I hope you can forgive me for my silence in this matter._

_I first laid eyes on you during your very creation. I am not speaking of your conception by your parents – I am not partial to spying on fornicating humans. I am speaking of those few moments when God himself assembled you on His workbench, long before man had even said his first words. You were designed many thousands of years prior to any of your companions. I think now that God was planning the Apocalypse even then, and taking special time to make sure His Righteous Man was everything the world needed him to be. At the time though, I didn't know this. I didn't even know why God allowed me into His workshop that day._

_"Castiel," he said, addressing me alone for the first and only time. "Come here. I want you to take a good, long look at this son."_

_I climbed up onto the table and obeyed, but I was not prepared for the sight before me. When I looked down at your pure self, laid out for assembly, I was awestruck. I had caught glimpses of my father's other creations before, but this was altogether different. You were magnificent, Dean. To this day I have seen nothing more beautiful than that first vision of you, and as my father bade me, I memorized every detail. I remember asking, "Who is he?"_

_God ignored my question. "Have you looked?" he asked. I nodded. "Good. Make sure you don't forget, Castiel. And for goodness' sake, you keep an eye on him all right?"_

_I nodded again, and He bade me go away and let Him finish His work. From that day I was assigned to watch over the humans, serving in one of many garrisons stationed on Earth. I spent long years watching, guarding, doing as I was told, but that held no satisfaction for me. Someday, I knew you would enter your mortal life on Earth, and it was for that day I waited._

_I waited for thousands of years, always alert; looking ahead to the moment we would meet again. I was so sure I would know the moment you came into the world. Father would tell me, I told myself. He wanted me to look after you, after all. I would wait as long as was required, and the instant you exited your mother's womb, I would be there. It was destiny._

_Imagine my surprise when Balthazar found you first._

_He came to me in a hurry one day, completely unannounced. "Cas," he said, flashing into visibility. "You need to go to Lawrence, Kansas. Now."_

_"Why?" I asked him, confused._

_He refused to meet my gaze. "It's…well…I shouldn't even be telling you," he said hastily. "But it's…you know. Him."_

_My heart plummeted. "What? He's here?" I asked._

_Balthazar nodded. "Yeah. And…he's got company."_

_"What do you mean?" My tone was harsh._

_"Well it's rather funny really. You'll never guess who his brother is."_

_Anger rose in my chest, and I stepped up to Balthazar. "He already has a brother?" I snapped. "How old is he? Why wasn't I told?"_

_"I don't know Cas! I only just found him myself, and it was completely an accident. I was on the Azazel case when I found out."_

_"What? But Azazel has nothing to do…" The realization hit me like a train. Without even finishing my sentence I vanished from in front of Balthazar._

_I reappeared in front of your house just in time to see flames explode from within Sam's nursery. Seconds later, you pelted from the front door. I saw your face, the terror and desperation, the death grip you had on your little brother as you raced across the lawn. But, I am ashamed to say that what struck me the most was how old you already were. When the firelight lit upon your face, it was clear to me that you were at least four years old, and no one had told me. I, your chosen guardian, was not even told of your existence. I had waited for years, and if Balthazar hadn't stumbled across you, I would never even have known you existed._

_Before you saw me, I was already on my way to Heaven, filled with wrath. I tried to find my Father, but he would not see me. Instead I ended up in a long argument with Michael over the matter, and he told me that you were his vessel and therefore none of my business. I was ordered back to my post, but I put my Father's orders above Michael's. I snuck away when I could, back to keep an eye on you. I couldn't interfere with your life in anyway, lest Michael found out, but I did the best I could._

_As you know, the whole Azazel business made demons a much larger problem than they had any right to be, and I was consequently busy for a long while. I tried to keep up with what you and Sam were doing, but every move you made wrapped you further and further into the building chaos. You nearly died so many times…I thought Michael didn't even care about you then. But every time I tried to help, he was always there to send me away. "For the last time Castiel," he'd shout, "Dean Winchester is not your responsibility!" And I'd go away, back to whatever meaningless station they'd made up for me, but my thoughts were constantly with you._

_Lilith arose from the ashes of Azazel's failed plans, and I knew that soon, seals would begin to break. My fears were confirmed when I heard of your deal with the crossroads demon for your brother's return to life. Destiny was closing in on all of us, and the Apocalypse was coming. The air in Heaven changed; the archangels seemed excited. I was caught up in the military effort to keep the seals from breaking, and so I didn't have time to think about it much, but now I realize how wrong it all was. I should have been able to see what was coming. But, at the time all I wanted was to stop the cage from opening, as I believed everyone else did._

_I wanted more than anything to somehow keep you from Hell, but in the end, no one listened to me. The news came that the hellhounds had dragged you off. Immediately, all of Heaven went up in arms to break you out, and I was at the forefront of the charge. We laid siege to Hell, with all the might we could muster. I laid it upon myself to fight my way to you before Alastair tortured you into demonhood. To this day it still pains me when I think back on the moment we broke in, and discovered that we were too late. I was supposed to watch over you. It was the only order that God had ever given me, and yet when it really mattered, when it was up to me to get you out of Hell…I failed you, Dean. I was too slow. And when I laid my hand on you, and felt how broken you were, you turned and looked at me with such loathing that I was rendered speechless and immobile. One of my companions pulled us both away._

_In that moment, all I could think of was that first time I had seen you on my father's table, how beautiful you were. This thing that I now held in my hands was hardly that; it was twisted, mean, and in pieces. My father's greatest work, dashed to bits in Hell because of my incompetence. I sat there for a great while, long after the other angels had given up and returned to Heaven, cradling your broken self in my arms and hating everything I had ever done. I hated that I had missed the moment of your birth. I hated that I had not spent every second by your side, protecting you from the world's ills. I hated that I had not been there to stop you from making the deal, or to put down Lilith, or to smite down every last monster that tried to cut your throat. In that moment, I was a failure._

_It took some time, but eventually I was able to put you back together. The result was not perfect, but I could not hope to remake my father's work exactly. Instead I did the best I could, and then put you in your body again and left you to find your way out. Shortly thereafter I received permission from Heaven to begin direct intervention. I was officially assigned to your case, and so could finally stand by your side, as I had always wanted to._

_You know the rest of the story. I still have not forgiven myself for my initial naivety on Earth, namely my attempt to emulate God. I know what you would say. "Come on Cas, that was years ago. We all make mistakes, even angels. Now let's go kill ourselves another demon." Part of me knows that you are right, but it is not strong enough to overcome my conscience. Nevertheless, since then we have had many long years of hunting together, and for those I am grateful. Even if many of those years were less than kind to us._

_At the time I'm writing this, the last time I saw you was barely an hour ago. You were sitting out on the end of the dock at the safe house in Montana, fishing and drinking a beer. I suppose you are still there now, lounging in that folding chair, fishing rod in hand, watching the surface of the lake. I imagine the sun is starting to set, turning the sky and the water to the same shade of golden-pink. When I'm finished writing I'll go out there, ask you if you've caught anything, and you'll grin and say "yep" and proudly reach down to open the icebox full of trout. It's times like that that make the ordeal of falling from Heaven worth it. Since the day I finally did it, I haven't regretted it for a second. At this point I can safely say that it was the best decision I've ever made._

_I know what little patience you have for reading, so I'll bring things to a close. I expect, as a fallen angel, I'll end up with all the rest of the humans upon my death. If so, I'll be waiting for you there. Try not to come along too soon - live a long and fulfilling life, with plenty of beer and road trips and women and whatever else it is that you do when I'm not around. I'll be there at the end, no matter how long I have to wait. I'm quite used to waiting for you Dean – I waited thousands of years on Earth for you to be born, and you know what? I could easily wait several thousand more, if that was what it took. I care about you more than anything else in the universe. You are still the most wonderful being I've ever seen, and someday I might have the courage to say that to your face. But for now, I will leave my affections written here._

_This is my final secret. I love you, Dean. I always have, and always will. I don't know if you feel the same way, or even if you can, seeing as my vessel was male for all those years. Even so, now that I am dead it is no use hiding it. I do not know the nature of your feelings towards me, but now you know mine, and that is enough. I hope you will take them well._

_Until we meet again,_

_- Cas_

There was not a sound in the room. Dean could hardly breathe. Slowly he put the letter down on his bedside table, his heart pounding in his chest. He felt hot and cold all at once. For a moment he thought he might just die right then and there, but then he knew better. Instinctively he seized a scrap of paper and a pen from the drawer, and without even thinking, scribbled his own reply.

_Dear Cas,_

_I'm coming you son of a bitch._

_Love,_

_Dean_

Breathing hard, Dean flung himself out of bed and grabbed his jacket as he hurried out the door.


	3. 3

Dean stood over the smooth white stone that marked Cas's grave. In one fist he clenched Cas's letter. In the other, his own reply was written on a small scrap of paper, messy handwriting smudged. With sudden determination, he bent over and dug a small hole in the dirt with one hand, shoving the scrap of paper into it and filling it back in again. Rising, he wiped his hand on his jeans and pressed the soil down with his foot. "I'm coming Cas," he whispered through gritted teeth. "You hear me? I don't care where you are, I'm going to find you and get you back here. You can't write a thing like that and expect me not to try."

The front door of the house slammed and Dean heard Sam's footsteps thumping across the ground towards him. "Dean!" Sam called, stumbling to a panting halt behind him. "What are you doing down here? What did the letter say?"

"It doesn't matter," Dean responded. "Listen Sammy, I know how crazy it sounds, and I know it's probably a bad idea, but…I'm going to go find him."

"What?" Sam yelped, shocked. "Dean, I know this has been rough, but you don't need to-"

"I'm not going to kill myself you dumbass!" Dean snapped. "I mean I'm going to get him back. I'm going to get Cas back."

"Wha…How?" Sam asked, incredulous.

"I don't know yet, but I have to try. This is all wrong, Sam. Cas and I, we're…we were supposed to go together, you know? I can't let it end like this. Not with Cas in the ground and me still walking."

"Dean, listen," Sam interrupted, worry lines creasing his face. "Please just listen to me, you're not thinking rationally. You're upset, I get that. I never should have given you the letter. You can't just go raising Cas from the dead!"

"Why not? We've done things like that before, haven't we?"

"Yeah, and look what it did to us!"

"No Sam," Dean said forcefully. "I've got to try. You don't understand, you were gone for too long. Cas and I are a packaged deal. Without him here, I might as well be dead for all the good it would do me! I can't just sit around knowing I never even tried to get him back. He's practically family, Sam! No - he _is_ my family."

Sam's eyes flickered to the letter still clenched in Dean's fist. "Dean…what did the letter say?"

Dean shoved it into his jacket pocket. "None of your business," he said shortly. "I'm going to get him Sam, and there's nothing you can do to stop me. Are you coming or not?"

"Hold on Dean, coming where?" Sam asked, grabbing Dean's jacket as he made to stride off.

"Well we're a bit short on angel-summoning ingredients aren't we?" Dean replied.

"That won't work and you know it. Cas was human when he died."

"No you moron, I'm going to use it on the guy who delivered the letter. What was his name again? Pahaliah? He's got to know something."

"This is ridiculous, Dean," said Sam. "Come on, let's just go back to the house and get something to eat all right?"

"I can't!" Dean said loudly.

There was desperation in Sam's eyes now. "It isn't possible," he forced out. "You know it Dean, you know there's no way you can do this."

"Well I'm doing it!" Dean snapped, jerking his jacket free. "Now either give me a hand or get lost."

Huffing, Dean hiked away up the hill towards the house, leaving Sam standing next to Cas's grave with wide eyes. He watched his brother climb up onto the porch and disappear through the back door, stubborn determination seeping from his every movement. "Christ," Sam swore, running a hand through his hair. He was at a complete loss. Dropping his hands to his pockets, he made to turn towards the lake, eyes lifting to gaze at the horizon…and found himself face to face with a tree.

There wasn't a tree here, Sam thought, shocked. Yet, the pale silver-bark on the trunk in front of him begged to differ. Slowly he looked up at the high, slender branches, swathed in bright green leaves, and then stared down at the base of the tree where the roots curled into the earth. It was no more than a sapling, but its sudden presence could not be denied. At its base sat the white stone that marked Cas's grave. Sam took a step back as it dawned upon him, looking the tree up and down. "Dean!" he shouted.

There was a bang as the door opened. "What now?" Dean yelled back. There was a pause, a distant exclamation, and then Sam heard his brother's footsteps pounding down the slope. "Where did that come from?" Dean demanded as he skidded to a halt beside Sam.

"I…I don't know," Sam stuttered. "One second I was looking up at the house, and the next I turned around and it was just there."

Dean stared, reaching out a weathered hand to touch the smooth bark. There was silence as the brothers stood in awe. "Still want to leave him to rot?" Dean finally said, shooting Sam a look before turning and starting back up the hill. Sam opened his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say. Instead he turned and followed his brother up the hill. If there was a way, Sam thought, Dean would find it. If not, it least the search would keep Dean busy for a while.


	4. 4

They returned to the house several hours later, the Impala laden with dubious materials from nearly every hunter they knew. Dean had always been a diligent and efficient worker, but in this task he had become borderline draconian. It was as if his whole world rode upon the success of this single summoning ritual. For all Sam knew, it just might.

"We'll need to clear a space in the living room," Dean said, setting down a box in the kitchen. "All the furniture needs to go, we gotta have plenty of acreage in there."

"All right," Sam replied, setting down a bag full of myrrh and a jug of oil. "Are we going to use holy fire as well?"

"We might as well go all the way, we don't know how cooperative this guy's going to be." Dean sniffed a jar of blood dubiously. "Blargh. What is this, lamb's blood? Pretty close to going bad, judging by the smell."

Sam glanced around the kitchen, noticing how bony and unsteady his brother's frame was with a pang. "Before we get started, why don't you have something to eat?" he suggested hopefully.

"Sam I just took a giant whiff of lamb's blood, and you want me to grab a snack?"

Sam sighed. "Come on Dean, you know what I mean. You haven't eaten in two weeks, you'll need your strength for this."

Dean drew a number of small satchels out of a burlap sack. "I'm fine, Sam. If you're so keen on me keeping my strength, why don't you mosey on into there and start clearing the space for some angel nabbing, huh?"

Sam thought about arguing, but he knew the odds of getting anywhere were low. Instead he sighed and made his way to the living room. With a grunt he set his weight against the couch and drove it across the floor, sliding into a mostly empty side room that served as a scant library. He then went back for the coffee table, the end tables, and the rug. Dean slid a small card table into the space, and began mixing the ritual ingredients together in a large bowl. "I don't know if we've used this angel summoning before," he said, frowning over an open book beside him.

"Why, where's it from?" asked Sam, coming over to look.

"One of Bobby's old books. There's a circle we're supposed to draw on the floor, look. You wanna have a go at that?"

Sam studied the complicated sigil. "I'll try, but it might be a while. Lots of Enochian."

"Well, better you than me. You know what my handwriting's like."

Sam sorted through their supplies until he found a piece of chalk, then set to laying out the summoning circle. Above and behind him he could hear Dean pounding away with a mortar and pestle. They worked in silence for a long while.

Many minutes later, Sam stepped back and appraised his circle. "I think that's about as good as I can make it. Are you ready?"

Dean scanned the ritual again. "Yep. Let's do this bitch."

Together the brothers stood behind the table, and Dean lit a candle on either side of the bowl of herbs. "Monons ol nazpsad, gah ol oiad oadriax," he said clumsily. "Gaha ol lvciftian nostoah ollor olani vls lit. Monons ol faaip od darbs." He nodded to Sam, who dropped a lit match into the bowl. The herbs began to smolder a deep blue, and from outside the walls of the house there came a faint whistling as the wind picked up.

"Olani vmd Pahaliah, oiad gassagen," Dean recited. "Olani ol maz emna. Oe oiad monasci ol nanta od oadriax noasmi ol ollog!"

The blue flames within the herb bowl leapt high, and the wind rattled the shutters outside. Below their feet the floor began to vibrate, and a humming grew in the air around them. Dean gripped the book tightly in his shaking hands. "Maz ladnah, hami ol olpirt!"

There was a crack and a flash of lightning outside, and the tall red-haired man Sam had met at the door appeared in the center of the circle with a whoosh. "What is the meaning of this?" he snapped.

Sam stared at the angel as Dean shut the book with a thud. "Is that him?" he asked Sam, who nodded. Dean leveled his gaze into the center of the circle. "Good," he said, narrowing his eyes. "Pahaliah is it? I'm Dean Winchester."

"Pleasure," said Pahaliah suspiciously. "What exactly am I doing here, boys? Oh, wait. This…this is about the letter isn't it? Whatever it said, I have nothing to do with it, and the whole thing is none of my business."

"I'll decide that," Dean retorted.

"I'm afraid you won't," Pahaliah said, folding his slender arms. "I have better things to do than chat with you two."

"Sam, now," Dean ordered. Sam quickly bent to the floor, lighter in hand, and ignited the line of holy oil. Instantly a ring of fire roared about Pahaliah trapping him completely.

"What the…holy fire?" Pahaliah exclaimed, amber eyes flaring in the firelight. "Well then, this is rather serious isn't it? What exactly requires this sort of…hospitality?"

Dean appraised the angel, his expression hard. "You mentioned to my brother that you were a friend of Cas's?"

Pahaliah lifted his chin. "I would say acquaintance, to be honest. And good thing too, otherwise I'd probably be dead by now. Castiel's friends never did seem to fare very well."

"But you knew him, yes?" Dean cut across.

"Well enough. After Balthazar died, I suppose I was the last angel in existence who could think of him as anything other than a military governor."

Dean began to slowly pace around the perimeter of the circle, arms folded in thought. "All right then," he said, fixing Pahaliah with his gaze. "Where is he now?"

"Dean…" Sam interrupted weakly.

"Quiet Sammy," Dean ordered as Pahaliah looked back and forth between them.

The angel's lip curled. "I haven't the foggiest idea."

"You're an angel, of course you do," Dean snapped.

"You would think so, wouldn't you? Unfortunately in Cas's case I'm afraid I'm telling the truth. Not that I have any reason to, seeing as how you boys are treating me."

Dean frowned. "Fine then, when was the last time you saw him?"

Pahaliah glanced around at the flames. "I assure you Dean, this is quite pointless," he said. "He's dead. He's not coming back. Why do you even care anyway?"

"Just answer the question!" Dean shouted suddenly, causing Sam to jump.

"All right, easy!" Pahaliah said through gritted teeth. "The last time I saw him was when he gave me the letter. He was human then; it was a few months after he fell. He summoned me to this very house, incidentally. Gave me the letter and told me to give it to you should anything happen to him. That's all. Seriously, this is ridiculous. What more could you possibly want?"

Dean set his jaw and turned away, remaining silent. Sam glanced at him before looking towards Pahliah again. "We don't mean to be so…curt, with you," he said hurriedly. "Really. It's just that Dean thinks there might be a way to get Cas back."

"It's impossible," Pahaliah said immediately. "Reincarnation, reanimation, demon deals, resurrection by angel - Heaven shut all that stuff down years ago. Most normal magic doesn't even work anymore. I'm surprised you were even able to conjure up an effective angel summoning."

"Yeah, well, still people don't just disappear when they die," Dean said, turning back around to face Pahaliah. "We know that. Cas is somewhere, and I mean to find him. Where do you think he's gone?"

Pahaliah shrugged. "Heaven I expect, with all the rest of the humans."

"I thought you said you didn't know where he was," Dean interjected angrily.

"I don't," Pahaliah said. "I'm guessing."

"But angels live in Heaven; surely you've seen Cas around," Sam said.

"Heaven is a vast and infinitely expanding plane," Pahaliah said, rolling his eyes. "I'm an angel, not a magician. He could be anywhere in there, and as long as he didn't draw attention to himself, I probably wouldn't be able to locate him. Heaven is just too large and multi-faceted for a search."

Dean fixed Pahaliah with a long look, clearly deep in thought. "Could you bring us there?" he asked finally. "To Heaven?"

Pahaliah snickered. "Sure, put out this holy fire and I'll smite the pair of you where you stand."

"You know that's not what I mean."

The angel rolled his amber eyes again. "Without actually killing you then? Maybe. Certainly not for very long. What, you think you can just mosey on in there, give a shout, and Cas will appear in front of you?"

"I have to try," Dean said, stubborn.

"Hold on a minute," said Sam, "even if we do find him, there's no way we can get him back here."

Dean glanced over at him, then back at the angel. "Is he right?"

"Not exactly," Pahaliah said. "You see, angels can't resurrect humans any more, not in the same way we used to. However, if we find Cas's soul, I can transport it to his body using the same method that Cas used to raise Dean's soul from Hell."

"So what you're saying is that you can't just tap his forehead and bring him back, but if we find his soul, you could use that to resurrect him?"

"Yes, probably," Pahaliah said with a nod.

Dean frowned. "And would you?"

Pahaliah raised an eyebrow. "I admit I am not very inclined to do so. This has hardly been a friendly visit."

Letting out a sigh, Dean folded his arms. "If you were really a friend of Cas's," he said, "you shouldn't need our persuasion to try and get him back. This is what friends do for one another."

"We would be in your debt," Sam added, putting on his most heart-wrenchingly pleading expression. Dean's eyes flickered over, and a small smile tweaked at the corner of his mouth.

The angel snorted. "That look isn't going to work on me."

"Please," Sam pleaded. "We just want to see our friend again. It's been…it's just been so hard without him, you know? It wasn't his time. He deserves another chance."

"He's hard more chances than all the rest of the angels put together!" Pahaliah barked, glancing back and forth between them, his expression vexed. "I…ugh. All right. Assuming you boys find him, which I doubt…"

"We will," Dean said determinedly.

"…then, yes, I suppose I will resurrect him. But be warned! I'm not going to hold your hand in this. And, first things first, put out this damn holy fire."

Dean nodded at Sam, who grabbed a small fire extinguisher from the kitchen and used it to spray out the flames. Pahaliah stepped out of the circle, flexing his fingers. "Very good," he said. "You guys had better be prepared to do me some major favors for just about the rest of your lives for this."

"So can you send us up to Heaven or not?" Dean asked.

Pahaliah gave him a long look. "This is turning into an awful lot of work," he complained. "Considering I don't even like you."

"It's not for us," said Sam. "It's for Cas."

Turning his gaze on Sam, Pahaliah let out a sigh. "Right, right, of course," he muttered. "Fine. Let's get this over with."


	5. 5

Huffing, Sam dragged two cots out of a spare bedroom and lined them up next to each other. "Yes, this will do nicely," Pahaliah said. "You can leave your bodies lying here. Better lock the house doors too; I'm certainly not going to sit here and watch over them for you. It'll be taxing enough to send you to Heaven and back."

"How long did you say we'd have?" Dean asked.

"Twelve hours," Pahaliah said. "Any longer and your bodies will probably start to deteriorate. After all, to all intents and purposes you will actually be dead."

"Dean, how exactly are we going to find Cas in twelve hours?" Sam cut in, brow furrowed.

Dean looked up at him. "I was thinking we'd find Ash. He's still kicking around up there right?"

A dawning expression flickered across Sam's face. "Of course," he said. "If we can find Ash, he should be able to find Cas for us. If he's still as well-connected as he was, that is."

"Excuse me, who is this Ash person?" Pahaliah asked.

"An old friend of ours," Dean answered, sitting down on the edge of one of the cots.

"Yeah, we got him killed a while back," Sam explained.

Pahaliah raised an eyebrow. "I…see."

"Is there a way you could poof us into Ash's heaven?" Dean asked. "It would definitely help speed things along."

"Yes, yes, whatever you say," Pahaliah sighed. "Now I'm really not keen on sticking around much longer boys, so can we move this along?"

"Go ahead then, do your thing." Dean lay down on his cot with a grunt, and Sam did the same.

Pahaliah stepped into the space between the two cots and lifted a hand over each of their foreheads. "Remember, twelve hours and you're back here, Cas or no Cas," he reminded them. "And if you fail, too bad. I'm not doing this again."

"Whatever," muttered Dean. "Work your mojo, angel boy."

The angel shot him a last, irritated look before laying his hands on both brothers' foreheads. There was a rushing sound and everything faded to brilliant white.

Somewhere overhead, a gentle breeze rustled through the leaves. Warm sunlight was spilling onto his face, lighting up his eyelids and drawing him out of a deep sleep. Sam sucked in a deep breath of crisp, earth-scented air and opened his eyes, looking up at the branches arcing overhead. It was midafternoon. The woods around him were quiet, peaceful, devoid of any sound save for the faint summer wind. Slowly, Sam sat up and looked around at the brush, feeling slightly groggy and wondering what he was doing here.

Seconds later the realization crashed into his brain, and he remembered everything. "Dean!" he yelled, scrambling to his feet, scattering leaves. "Dean, where are you?" Wildly he glanced around, but he couldn't see anyone. "Dean!" he shouted again, louder. "Ash! Anyone!"

"Yo," a vaguely familiar voice drawled from behind him.

Sam whirled around to see the pasty young man standing there, hands in his pockets. "Ash!" he exclaimed, relieved that at least that part had gone right.

"Sam, buddy, nice to see you again," Ash said with a goofy grin, coming over and grasping Sam's hand. He looked precisely the same as he'd always looked; pale-skinned, hair cut into an outrageous mullet, and wearing the same plaid shirt with the sleeves cut off. Belatedly he wrinkled his forehead into what may have been a concerned look. "Er…sorry that you're dead, bro."

"What? Oh no, we're not dead," Sam said quickly. "Just another visit, courtesy of an angel."

"Jesus, when did they start catering to the tourist industry up here?" Ash said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You said 'we'. Is Dean here too?"

"He should be," said Sam, glancing around. "That was the plan. Dean!"

Ash stopped moving and a thoughtful look crossed his face. "Yeah, he's in the Roadhouse," he said. "Hold on." He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

Suddenly Sam was standing on a hardwood floor next to a banged-up bar, and there was a high ceiling overhead with exposed rafters. All around him was the familiar interior of the Roadhouse bar, and the musty scent curling into his nose invoked intense nostalgia. Immediately he saw that Dean was standing next to a table, looking around somewhat dazedly. Ash grinned and strolled around behind the bar. "So, what'll it be? At this rate you two will practically have a usual."

"Ash, man, good to see you," Dean greeted him, coming over to the bar. "Really, I was afraid we'd end up God knows where."

"Nice teleportation skills you've got," Sam added, sliding onto a barstool.

"It is my Heaven," Ash said, plunking a pair of beers down in front of them. "I can do what I want." He watched as Dean and Sam grasped the bottles and each took a swig. "Now, tell me, what brings you guys to my corner of the woods?"

Dean and Sam exchanged glances. "We're looking for someone," Dean said. "The angel, Castiel. Well, former angel now. He…he died a few weeks ago. We're trying to bring him back."

Ash looked back and forth at their faces. "Well…that's nice and all," he said carefully. "But…why? No offense guys, but when you die, ain't you supposed to stay dead? I mean, isn't that kind of the point? I didn't see you try to bring me, or Ellen, or Jo back."

"Yeah, well, times have changed." Dean took another drink of beer.

Ash raised an eyebrow and looked at Sam, but Sam just gave a quiet shrug. "I…see," he drawled, clearly not seeing. "Well, whatever. You have your reasons. I suppose then you didn't stop by just to catch up."

"Nope," said Sam. "We were hoping you'd be able to help us locate him."

Ash nodded. "That I can do." He bent over and dragged a clunky steampunk-mess of a laptop out from under the bar and set it down between them with a thud. "What's this guy's name again? Castiel?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "Do you think you can find him?"

"Sure thing," Ash said. "It might take a couple of hours though. Heaven's kind of gigantic, in case you hadn't noticed."

"We know," Sam said.

Ash's fingers buzzed over the laptop keys and he frowned in concentration. "I'm setting it to look for abnormalities in Heaven's frequencies. You said this guy used to be an angel – well, he's going to have a different signature than all of the humans up here. Thousands of years of life will do that to a soul, you know?" Ash glanced up at Sam and Dean's blank faces, and then cleared his throat. "All right, that should do it," he said, tapping the enter key. "We'll have results in a few hours. In the meantime, I say we party! Eh boys? Let's blow the roof off this bitch!" Ash clapped his hands and looked up at both of them expectantly.

Sam looked doubtfully over at Dean, whose mouth had twitched into a small grin. "Three's a bit small for a party, don't you think?" Dean asked.

"Three? Nah, three's a crowd," Ash said, wending his way through the tables to the front door. "Nevertheless, you should know me well enough to know that I, of all people, can rustle up a party no problem." He grabbed the front door and flung it open. "Ellen!" he hollered. "Pamela! Rufus! Bobby! Jo!"

Dean gave Sam a wide-eyed glance before they both stood and stared at the small group now wending their way through the front door of the Roadhouse. "Sam! Dean!" Ellen exclaimed, Jo peeking out from behind her with a grin. They hurried across the room and Sam found himself being hugged tightly by Ellen. "Never thought I'd see you boys again," Ellen said in his ear. Sam smiled. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jo leap into Dean's arms and plant a firm kiss on his lips.

Ellen broke away from Sam, looking up at him happily as Bobby and Rufus made their way over. "Bobby, you made it to the right place," Sam said, grasping his outstretched hand and clasping him in a hug.

"You got that right," said Bobby, his face crinkling into a smile. "I got no idea how I managed it."

"Yeah, me neither with all the crap this guy pulled while we were kicking around together," Rufus said jovially, clapping Sam's shoulder. "Good to see you Sam. And you too Dean, both of you."

Dean stepped over and gave Bobby a quick embrace. "It's been too long," he said. "Way too long." He took a step back and looked around at all of their faces. "I feel…guys, look."

Pamela cut across him. "Don't you dare start apologizing," she told him, fixing him with a knowing stare. "Neither of you. Our deaths were not your fault, you know that."

Sam looked around at them, a strange feeling in his chest. Dean's expression was unreadable. "It isn't fair though," he said softly. "That we should live, despite everything we've done."

"Speak for yourself, I feel like you're the ones who got the short end of the stick," said Bobby.

"It's Heaven, we really can't complain," Ellen said, a small grin on her face.

"Someday, you'll get it," said Jo.

"All right, all right, enough with the touchy-feely stuff!" said Ash, thrusting himself into the middle of the group. "Let's do this reunion properly. Heavy drinking and loud music!"


End file.
